Crimson Rain
by Lulu Nobody
Summary: This was... a dream. This was heaven. Nothing could ever compare to this, not a thing, not even sex. Sephiroth-centric, definitely not for the kiddies. Read at your own discretion.


Since he had been young, there had been a documentation made about his fascination with blood, made especially by Hojo. Of course, when it had been dubbed a 'strange and unusual behavioural manifestation', it had been a lie. There was nothing strange about it, and it had been far from unusual. Sephiroth knew Hojo had been pleased with that, always had been since he was young. The smirk that formed on the scientist's face whenever Sephiroth had perked at the mention of the substance told all. Whether he had been programmed that way, the instinct to love it shoved into his mind by both genetics and upbringing didn't matter to the ex-General; blood was blood, and he loved every bit of it.

So, now was not a surprising moment to silver haired man, as he remained still on the floor in a near spread eagle position. A small, contented smile had slowly spread across his lips, accenting his beautiful features in the most disturbing of ways, giving him an almost childish appearance. His fingers twitched occasionally, as small droplets of blood splashed on the tips, as well as his palms, decorating the appendages with the crimson paint of life. His exposed chest was covered as well, small drops here and there trailing lazily down his sides, nearly tickling him as they seemed to tease him with their presence.

His jade eyes slipped shut in near ecstasy as he could feel beads of the silkly liquid falling to his face, splattering his cheeks and other features in the equivalent of a morbid war paint. And as those, too, began to trail down his face, he only let out a gentle laugh, cat-like eyes opening to regard the ceiling again, admiring his handiwork. He had been bored tonight, after finding himself alive and well, and in much need of celebration. When he had awoken, shivering madly in the Northern Cave, on the verge of hypothermia, the only thing on his mind had been that he was alive. So even Cloud Strife hadn't been able to strike him down with a final blow, couldn't send his soul to Lifestream. If Cloud couldn't, then who could?

Of course, the first thing after he had taken all precatutions to get out of that horrid place, was to celebrate. He wanted to rejoice in his life for once, in his state of existence. As his eyes scanned the ceiling again, sitting up as he did so, he could think of no better way. Too bad the residents of Mideel wouldn't be alive to exult with him, considering they were strapped to the ceiling.

A nearly elaborate scheme that had popped into his mind, really, and it took him forever! He needed to pick a town that the population would have been perfect, and Mideel seemed right. He arrived - as always - within the shades of night, slipping in unnoticed to watch them enter their homes peacefully, ready for a good night's sleep. What they hadn't known was that a killer was on all their trails. And, when the last light had been turned off, he made his move, and entered. It was then he took his route, house by house, striking down women, men, children, any who stood in his path until everyone lay in a pile in the center of town. He was disappointed slightly though, considering he couldn't utilize his sword for this task; he needed to be assured that no blood would be lost. So, to replace his sword for the night, he had used a metal baseball bat. Cracking skulls here, breaking necks and limbs there; it had been a most useful weapon, but only to preserve the blood.

When he had finished murdering everyone, he then began to transfer their corpses to a nearby house, small enough for his purpose yet big enough to accommodate the bodies. Then he set to work strapping each body to the ceiling with ragged piano wire, until every inch of every ceiling had been covered. It had taken him hours, to be sure that each support for where he tied the wire were safe and would not collapse, sending the bodies downwards. But, he loved working with it, all for the sake to sate his blood lust. The way the piano wire cut into the flesh of every body, set at a perpendicular pattern so that droplets of blood slipped from the wounds, a constant dripping onto the floor or whoever walked through.

The only occupant of the house now was Sephiroth, and he would be the only occupant for some time. He didn't plan to leave until each and every body was drained, or until the bloodflow from their wounds stopped, and he was left with no more blood. He hated to think of that, but it would happen eventually. For now, as he flopped back onto the floor, a wet splashing sound following him, he would revel in this. All of this crimson was his, all of it for his usage, and he all he could do was sit and let it cover him. Well, not just cover him, but he could taste it, too. He swiped one finger through a small puddle next to him, lifting it to his mouth and wrapping his lips around it, licking every bit of the sweet red nector from the tip. A soft moan escaped him at the taste, the delicious metallic essence that blood had filling his mouth in the most wonderful of ways. When he extracted his finger, he only went back for more, once more crying softly at the taste, savouring every bit of it in its glory.

Perhaps this had been a dream of his for some time. What better way to satisfy his need for blood than this, to make it rain the substance. It surely was raining blood, too; there was a constant wet, pattering noice that echoed lightly in the house, both a constant reminder of what he had just done, and the one thing he loved above all else. He pushed himself up again, getting to his knees before standing erect, the trails of blood on his chest dripping downwards. His smile grew as they slipped into the top of his leather pants, dipping lower to make him very aware of their presence. It did more than just please him at that point, as he took a step, eyes forever locked on his morbid moral of a ceiling, casually extending his arms and beginning to spin slowly. With the action, a small laugh erupted from his lips, a first low and without much to it. But soon, it grew, louder and louder until he was truly laughing, a deep, malicious laugh of ecstasy.

This was... a dream. This was heaven. Nothing could ever compare to this, not a _thing_, not even sex. Mind, Sephiroth did enjoy his share of sexual encounters, but none of them could rank up higher than this moment. He had waited years for this, waited for that one space of time where in it, he had no worries, and only a indescribeable happiness filled his frame. That moment... was now, and he couldn't have been happier. Not even being alive could compare to this. But this! This was a magnificent experience, a morbid type of sex that only Sephiroth could get enjoyment out of.

No... nothing could contend with a crimson rain.


End file.
